That Cooking Girl

By Michelle L. Rusk

Megan Marshall's routine world, writing for a public relations firm, turns upside down when she's asked to pinch hit on local Albuquerque television sharing how to make her carob cookies. It leads to a weekly gig and "That Cooking Girl." Suddenly, she's the "it girl" of Albuquerque and beyond.

The people in Megan's orbit, especially her boss at the public relations firm where she works, Barry Thomas, and his friend Maria Espinoza, a Hollywood stylist, conspire to build her career to something more than just local– or even national.  Set in the cultural landscape of Southwestern Albuquerque­, Megan finds herself shedding her past, Barry has dreams of where she will go, and Maria is pulling together Megan's style without Megan realizing she had any style.

With the film industry buzzing around Albuquerque and New Mexico, Maria's former Los Angeles neighbor, actor Nate Matthews, is in town filming a television show called "Twilight Sands" about a motel on old Route 66. The period piece drew Maria back home to work on the show and she schemes in the background to set up Megan and Nate. As Megan climbs the ladder of her burgeoning new career, she questions Nate's interest in her, and if they can weave their lives together as Barry continues to forge Megan's career forward.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9780983777670

Book preview

29

CHAPTER 1

Gummy bears remind me of Christmas morning, Megan Marshall said nonchalantly as she picked up several from the brown-striped earthenware bowl that Stephanie Crowder held out to her.

That’s an odd combination, Stephanie said, taking the bowl back and grabbing a few for herself before she rolled her chair back behind the reception desk.

Christmas morning? Julie Martin asked. They remind me of upscale candy stores. Remember when you could only get them at a candy store, not in a bag in the checkout line at the office supply store?

The three women sat in the reception area of Thomas Public Relations in Albuquerque where they all worked, taking a mid-morning break. Thirty-six-year-old Megan loved her job writing copy, campaigns, or whatever Barry Thomas needed as the top PR firm in New Mexico. She knew Barry had worked hard to keep the local businesses working with him and not reaching outside the state for help. Julie also wrote copy, but she hadn’t been there as long as Megan. And Stephanie was the heart of the company, directing calls wherever they needed to go. Sometimes she forgot to take off her headset when she left work in the afternoon, laughing at herself each time she did it.

I think I really do love my job, she would say with a chuckle.

The three women often gathered together a few minutes each day to catch up and keep each other entertained, especially when there was a big deadline and they were struggling with words.

My mom used to get us each a bag for Christmas– in our stockings, Megan added.

Wow, we didn’t have stockings, Julie realized, sitting back on the couch.

I got chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate, Stephanie added, her black curls bouncing around as she spoke.

And they remind me of Duran Duran, Megan added, pulling her long blonde hair into a ponytail and tying it up with a hair band from her wrist, where she sometimes kept them, blending in with whatever bracelet she chose for that day. Megan leaned back in the chair and stretched her legs in front of her, revealing low black heels on her bare legs, coordinating with her turquoise shift dress.

That’s even weirder, Stephanie said, eating a few more, ignoring the fact that she was bursting out of her tight black skirt already.

Megan shrugged her shoulders. "I got the Arena album that year. And a poster. Oh, Simon. How badly I wanted to go to London. I thought life with the lead singer of my favorite band would be perfect."

You were a Simon Le Bon girl? Julie asked, raising her brown eyebrows. You must be one of those lead singer girls? I much preferred the shadowy Nick Rhodes, the keyboardist.

I liked men whose song lyrics didn’t make sense, Megan said, laughing at the ridiculousness of it. And then she thought for a moment before she spoke. I was never into actors. I think it’s because they remind me of the theater people from high school. They were always so…

Dramatic? Julie asked, laughing.

Exactly. I thought it would be weird to be with someone who constantly thinks they are someone else.

Not me, I don’t care, Julie said. And then she added, And then I marry an electrical engineer. Go figure.

I think London is the most romantic city ever, Stephanie looking up dreamily at the Thomas Public Relations sign, as if it were a photo of the London skyline with The Eye and Parliament the focus of the shot.

You’ve never been there, Julie asked her, looking at the bowl as if it wasn’t worth it to leave any gummy bears behind and eating them one by one.

I know, but I always thought it would be romantic.

Megan ignored her colleagues, setting off into her own world, remembering how she once dreamed that she would marry a rock star and they would divide their time between Los Angeles and England. And how listening to Rock over London on the radio every week inspired her.

Now she looked out the window at the Sandia Mountains and realized nothing in that dream had come true. Simon married a model and the last photo she saw of him, in a too small bathing suit, made her glad the other woman– what was her name anyway?– found a life with Simon. Megan sat forward, tracing her finger along the cover of the copy of People magazine on the coffee table, mostly across the name banner in blue across the top.

Nate Matthews is the handsomest man ever, Julie said, looking over and letting out a sigh.

Megan looked down to see Nate– with his black hair and dark eyes– smiling back on the cover at her.

I wonder if he’ll ever marry, Julie said out loud. He got me through grad school, that’s for sure. She nodded her head and sighed again. Every Wednesday night I watched that hospital show he was in. And if I missed it, I used to tape it. Imagine that, taping something! It sounds so old fashioned.

Life before the DVR, Stephanie said to no one in particular as she sorted through the mail now that the candy bowl was empty. I heard Nate Matthews has a new television show they’re going to film here. They start pretty soon, too.

How do you know these things? Megan asked. How old is he now anyway?

They deliver a newspaper here every morning, remember? Stephanie reminded her. I read it before all of you get it. Besides, I know you never read it anyway. I don’t even think Barry reads it. If something happens, it seems like someone calls to tell him about it.

I believe he’s in his forties, Julie said pulling out her phone to Google it. I’m sure Wikipedia has the right answer, she said sarcastically.

Megan heard her, but responded to Stephanie. I don’t read that section, she laughed about the entertainment news in the newspaper.

They filmed the pilot in California, didn’t they? Julie asked. Stephanie and Megan started to feel left out of something. And it got picked up so they’re going to film it here. Something about a motel and Route 66.

Megan! Megan! Are you out here? Barry Thomas came flying around the corner, his tie flipped over to his back as he ran across the small reception area floor. Barry always looked rumpled in the office, but on television, in meetings, in photos, and out with the public, everyone saw a side of him that those who worked with him in his office knew was tough for him to keep up.

Disheveled was the word Megan always thought of.

And now– his tie taking up more space on his back than the front of his shirt– he looked like he was running from the enemy. He ran his hand over his balding head and took a deep breath.

I’m right here, Megan said, standing up and straightening her dress, figuring he had gotten a phone call and needed her to write a press release. After five years of working with him, and helping him to build his public relations company, she knew if he got excited, it meant there was something they needed to do. And she would get it done without joining his drama.

Barry, what has you all excited? Stephanie asked, the three women looking puzzled at him.

He took a deep breath as if he had run across the city. My producer friend down at the TV station lost a segment for the noon show. I need you to run over there and make those carob cookies.

Cookies? she asked, looking slightly confused. You want me to go make cookies on television? Since when is that part of my job?

They lost their cooking segment. It was that chef at the Clean Plate. Apparently he had a nervous breakdown.

One’s nervous breakdown is your opportunity, Julie said. You go girl.

But my cookies?

I love when you bring those cookies. He held out his hand and she took it, Barry guiding her back toward his office. We need to get a batch made for you to take. We’ve got time and they have an oven for you to use, but we need to hurry. He motioned for her to grab her purse from her office and follow him.

What about the Scott campaign I was working on? Barry stopped in the doorway of the office, his body halfway out, and looked at Megan. We’ll take care of it. Right now I really need you to do this. We have time before the election, but we don’t have much time before the noon news.

Megan bit her lip as they drove to the grocery store closest to the office– which meant leaving downtown Albuquerque heading toward the University of New Mexico area. We’ll stop at your house and pick up whatever else you need, Barry said, parking his car and looking at his watch. You have about eight minutes to shop and be back here. I’ll follow you and carry everything.

Later Megan would tell Stephanie and Julie that she felt as though she were in a reality cooking show with a timeline she had to meet. But with Barry breathing down her back, there was no time to think.

At her house, conveniently close to the television station, while she pulled out packages of carob and her favorite stainless steel cooking bowl, Barry searched her cabinets. I know you have some colorful dishes in here somewhere, he said, opening every cabinet but the right one. Do you really have a waffle maker? I thought only married women had those.

Megan glared at him and then answered, To the left of the sink. She put everything into a red and orange reusable shopping bag someone had given her as a gift. Remember, I was married at one time so I still have some married girl things.

Sam, her New Mexico special dog as they called him, watched, keeping a close eye as the two of them went back and forth not just talking, but grabbing items from the cabinets. Sam was, at minimum, part pit bull, having been rescued by Megan as a puppy, curled up in the neighbor’s carport, whimpering on a monsoon afternoon three summers ago. Megan guessed he had been dumped in her neighborhood, not unusual for people to do with the small park across the street.

Barry took two dishes– one blue and one bright green– and looked at Megan. Do you have an apron?

It’s kind of silly looking, she said, pointing to the pantry door. It’s a retro thing with a ruffle at the bottom.

Barry took a look at the pink and green print, laughed, and grabbed it. It’ll work.

Once at the studio, he ushered her through several doors, waving at security people. Does everyone know you? Megan asked, trying to keep up with him in her high heels and carrying two of the three bags of items she would need for the segment.

He stopped in front of an office. We made it, he said to the person inside, Megan standing behind him but not able to see in.

A woman with long brown kinky hair walked out, looking around. Once she saw Megan, she smiled and held out her hand. You must be Megan? Thank you for rescuing us. I’m Janet Smith. I produce the noon show here. She began to walk and waved Megan to follow. Let’s get your final batch made and measure out your ingredients.

Megan stopped. Measure? she asked.

Barry and Janet stopped to look at her. Yes, measure, Janet said.

I don’t measure, Megan told them honestly.

Barry shook his head. Megan, make it up. I’m begging you, make it up. You can do this in your sleep. I know you.

Megan sighed and kept following them into the studio where a fake kitchen was set up in the corner. Ron Edwards cooked for us for years, Janet explained. But he’s been fired from Clean Slate for a social media mess over the weekend that he says was because of a nervous breakdown. She rolled her eyes before she spoke again. I’m sure you heard about it. Anyway, we can’t worry about the past. We need you to bake cookies.

There was no time to think or wonder more about it. Megan pulled her ingredients from the bag and Barry and Janet asked her what she needed. Without missing a beat, Megan started to bark orders. She had no idea what she was going to do or say on television, but she did know she could bake cookies.

Think about everyone who loves your cookies, she repeated to herself as she mixed the ingredients while measuring out the next batch that she would actually put together live on Albuquerque television. Did anyone even watch the noon news? she wondered.

After she slid the first batch out of the oven, she placed them on the cobalt stoneware plate, making sure they looked presentable. This isn’t a party where everyone will grab them without looking closely, she mumbled while the others were huddled in a corner discussing something else.

With everything ready for the segment, Barry guided her off to the side of the set and showed her a mirror and handed her the apron.

The show goes on in ten minutes. You go on in twenty. I’ll be right here, he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

That’s when Megan began to get nervous, realizing what she was about to do. And what she had failed to tell anyone because of the timing. Her parents lived in Denver anyway. Maybe because it was local Albuquerque television, no one would see it.

We forgot to get the recipe, Janet said, walking over with a rushed whisper. She handed a clipboard and a pen to Megan, motioning her to write it down. We always post them on the web site.

The studio was cold and Megan shivered in her sleeveless dress. She couldn’t decide, did her hair look better in front of her shoulders or behind? Or should she leave it in the messy ponytail from earlier? She wasn’t having the best of hair days and here she was going on television.

Don’t think, she repeated to herself. Just bake.

You look great, Barry said, leaving the set. Break a leg.

I’ve never been on television, she whispered as he walked away.

He didn’t hear her.

The host, Sally Baca, with her long black hair– as straight as Janet’s was kinky– walked over to Megan, a stack of index cards in her hands. These look great, she said, eyeing the cookies. I can’t wait to try one.

You mean after we ‘bake’ them, Megan said, using her fingers for quote marks.

Sally laughed and someone called out, We’re on in five, four, three, two, go!

The cameras went blindingly bright as they turned the lights to Megan and Sally standing behind the counter of the fake kitchen. As Sally talked, Megan wondered when they last updated it. There were no granite counters, just a simple Formica top.

Thank you for joining us, Sally said, turning to Megan, with no mention of Ron or what happened. Megan knew Barry had suggested they not say anything. I understand your cookies are well known in your circle.

Megan laughed and smiled, thinking she was just having a conversation with Sally. It’s true, she said. I get requests for them all the time.

And it’s carob, not chocolate, Sally said, pointing a long red-painted fingernail at the bowl of carob chips on the counter.

Yes, Megan said. Not the ingredient only health food nuts in the seventies ate. Carob has come into its own.

As she mixed ingredients, she and Sally talked about food and a little about life.

Why do you cook? Sally asked, still eyeing the plate of cookies. Megan wondered if Sally had had breakfast.

Cooking for me is a way of gathering people around my table and also sharing with them. It’s a form of creativity. My mom taught me when I was young and it was one of the ways we spent time together.

Before she knew it, a director waved that they had thirty seconds remaining and Megan slid the plate of cookies over to Sally who looked as if she was going to devour them, despite her petite frame.

Oh my goodness, Sally said, swallowing before she spoke. I can’t believe these have all sorts of healthy ingredients like flax and wheat flour.

She turned to the camera. The recipe is on our web site and I recommend you make a batch today. I think I’m going to go home to make several batches.

Suddenly the director yelled, We’re out! and Megan slumped her shoulders back, able to breathe. She ran her hands down her legs, across the apron, letting her body loose.

I did it, she thought.

These are awesome! Sally called, running off for the next segment after the commercial break.

Barry and Janet helped Megan grab her things and Barry whispered, You were great! He beamed like a proud dad on graduation day.

Once in the hall, Janet eating a cookie and passing the plate around to anyone who wanted one, said, You were brilliant! Are you sure you’ve never done television before?

Megan laughed. Just pretend with my best friend growing up, she admitted.

She had forgotten how she and Kelly Connor would play not kitchen but television kitchen, taking their cues from Julia Child, a show they never watched themselves, but saw their parents hungrily devour.

You’re right Barry, she is great. Janet turned back to Megan. Could you come back next week and cook again?

Megan felt her breath slip out of her. She looked at Barry. Of course she will, he said, realizing she wasn’t going to answer.

Great! Great! I have to go! She took the last cookie and handed the empty dish to Megan. See you then!

CHAPTER 2

Around noon on Friday several weeks later, Megan looked out the window of her office and took a long look at the sky out west. Life hadn’t changed a bit since her television experience over the past few weeks. She’d done three of them and it was as if she had one more weekly challenge, something new to do. No different than a new campaign to work on.

Not that she had expected to like to change. On the way back to the office after the most recent segment, Barry had said KRQE had the highest rated noon show in the city, but it was mostly housewives, either young with children, or senior citizen women.

I’m neither of those, Megan had said, as he maneuvered his car back to the Simms Building where the office was. I’m a divorced woman with no kids. And a waffle maker.

I’m wondering, Barry said, pulling into his designated spot in the parking garage adjacent to the midcentury steel and glass building. Was the waffle maker a wedding gift?

It was, Megan said.

Why haven’t you ever had a waffle party?

Megan shrugged her shoulders as they walked back into the building and past the winding stairwell, the very one that Megan took to the second floor (as far as it went) and then caught the elevator to the sixth floor just so she could walk. Maybe one day.

The waffle maker. She laughed thinking about how it was her mother’s idea to put it on the wedding registry.

Everyone has to have a waffle maker, Donna Marshall said as she and Megan made out a list of items they both thought she and Guy would need as they started their life together. When Guy left, he only took his favorite coffee mug, from New York City. Megan was left with the rest of the kitchen items. She either donated or upgraded many of them.

Except the waffle maker. Each time she moved it with her or opened the cabinet to where it sat behind the blender– a kitchen appliance she used often– she never took out the waffle maker. But she never tossed it away either.

One day, she muttered every time, I know I’ll need it.

That day hadn’t come, but still something kept it in the cabinet to the far left of her kitchen sink.

That looks ominous, she mumbled, now looking at the storm out her office window, thinking it more resembled the monsoon clouds of July than a storm coming in January.

She went back to work, but within the hour she realized it was getting dark in her office. She turned on the small light she kept on her desk, as decoration mostly, and kept working.

It’s snowing! she heard Stephanie yell down the hall.

It is? Kevin Poole– the social media guy– called back.

Megan turned her head to see the flakes starting to fall, a long way still to go from their sixth floor office. She pulled up the page for the weather report and it drew her eyes instantly to the red winter storm warning banner.

We’re getting a snow storm, Stephanie called out again.

The office was quiet, not unusual for a Friday, but while everyone was there working, the phones were silent, as if the falling snow kept the phones quiet, too. Slowly, the snow began to blanket the city.

Everyone go home, Barry called from his office. Get home before everyone else gets on the road. We know that no one here can drive in snow.

They never used texting or intercoms, always calling out to each other across the halls, making Megan feel like she were back in a college dorm at times.

Here, here, called Kevin, a Minnesota native. He was out of his office in thirty seconds with his coat on and laptop in a bag. I was just waiting for the boss’s signal, he said to Megan as he strolled by her office on his way out. People here have no idea how to drive in the snow.

Kevin lived on the far end of the city and Megan knew his commute would be treacherous if he didn’t get out soon.

You need to go home, Barry said, wearing his long overcoat, as Megan still sat at her desk fifteen minutes later.

But I only live a few minutes from here, she protested. All of you live in the newfangled areas of town.

We know you live in the classic part of the city. But go home. They said this could be a doozy. Spend the weekend working up recipes. You have a lot of work ahead of you.

While the snow fell, on and off through Saturday afternoon, Megan did just that at home. She pored over her cookbooks and her memory, thinking about her favorites, the recipes that taught her how to cook, and the dinner parties she had held over the years.

And the possibility of a waffle party. Nothing resonated with the waffles though and she turned her focus elsewhere.

Around 2 pm on Saturday, with everything looking white outside the window, Megan looked up from the notebook she was writing in and across the kitchen to Sam who was laying in the middle of the kitchen floor, two toys by his mouth, snoring away.

Hey, she said, getting up, knowing he would sense her movement before he heard her and jump up. You need to go out. You haven’t been out since breakfast.

She opened the back door, barely able to move it because the snow